


All In The Family

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Series: A Poem Lovely As A Tree [10]
Category: Leverage, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Bujangas Are Excellent Security Systems, Family Fluff, Family Is Weird, Meet the Family, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 22:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18270512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: Thistle finally meets the rest of her clan. Mostly by attacking them, but that's what they get for intruding on her territory without warning her, isn't it? She gets to make it up to them, thankfully.





	All In The Family

Thistle wakes up from her afternoon doze with a yawn, stretching out gracefully in her perch, the deep fork of the crabapple tree behind the den. Mum and Punk aren't there. Today is her day to stay at the den while they go to the Liberry. She likes playing with Fran, but she knows that it's important to keep the den safe.

She climbs down the trunk and heads over to the wooden frame that has ivy climbing all the way up the side of the den; it's easy to scale, hooking her claws through the holes. Punk had showed her how to lift up one of the windows so she could get in on her own. As soon as she jumps back inside, she knows that there is a stranger there. She can smell a new scent, something different and strange that did not belong there. It isn't Mum, it isn't Punk, and it's not any other member of their clan. She _knows_ those scents, and this is not them.

She bristles defencively, her claws extending. An intruder! Someone trying to raid their den? Take their nest? Hissing softly, she stalks towards the source of the foreign scent—leather, spices, copper, something sharp and acrid—and finds a human male on the sofa, fast asleep. Asleep? What kind of intruder goes to _sleep?_ That's bold. She hisses again, gathering back on her haunches to pounce. She's got a perfect target on his back, and she can bite the back of his neck, too.

The human moans and rolls over.

Thistle freezes. Mum? The human looks like _Mum._ But…it's _not_ Mum. She knows it isn't. He doesn't smell like Mum, and he definitely does not have magic like Mum. She creeps closer, baffled, inhaling the scent of him, trying to understand. It plucks at a very distant thought in the back of her mind, where the memories of those-from-before are hidden. It's very rare, but sometimes there are two hatchlings born to one egg, who look exactly alike. That must be what it is. She can't think why else the human would look like Mum but not be Mum.

She hesitates for a moment, torn, but then resolves. He has to be kin. Absent until now, but kin. Thistle creeps forward carefully, trying to familiarise herself with his scent without waking him—waking sleeping humans is never a good idea—when he groans again. It's a pained sound, and she smells that hot, copper scent again. Creeping a little closer, she stands on her hind legs, bracing her front feet on the edge of the sofa. His _clothes_ —the false-skins that humans wore to keep warm, considering their lack of fur—are damp and stained dark, and she realises that he is wounded. That is what that metal smell is, his blood.

"Up," she chirps, butting her head against his shoulder. "Up, up!"

He only groans a little.

Alarmed now, Thistle circles around and climbs up the back of the sofa, peering down at him. It's his other shoulder that's injured; she can see it through the tear in his clothes. It's still bleeding, too. Gingerly, she slides down and perches on his middle, using her teeth to gently pull away the wet fabric and licking the wound. Bujanga saliva had excellent coagulant properties, helping to stop excessive bleeding. Once the bleeding stops almost entirely, she gently nuzzles his cheek; his skin is cool, not warm like he should be, and she can feel him trembling under her.

Leaping off the sofa, she bolts over to the chair. Mum's blanket is folded over the arm of the chair, and she seizes it in her teeth, dragging it down. She almost trips on it, but she manages to get back over to the sofa; the young bujanga climbs up on the sofa, tugging the blanket up with her. It doesn't seem sufficient. Quickly, she drops the blanket and bolts in the direction of the stairs, scrambling up them with fluttering hops, and bolts to Mum and Punk's nest. There's another blanket, a thicker, warmer one on the bed that she wrestles off with effort, dragging it back down the stairs, tugging it across the floor to the sofa.

Once she gets Not-Mum mostly covered with the blankets, she crawls underneath and spreads herself over him as best she can, covering him with her wings for additional warmth. He makes another pained sound, his face creasing in discomfort. Thistle purrs low in her chest, trying to comfort him as best she knows how; she knows that the Liberry is too far for her to fly there, and she isn't allowed outside without Mum or Punk with her. She only hopes that they'll be back soon. Until then, she resolves to keep him warm and safe as best she can.

 

"I don't even _like_ olives, and these are delicious," Ezekiel remarks, popping another olive into his mouth as they head up the walkway towards the front door.

Jacob pokes him in the ribs. "Don't eat them all, they're for Thistle."

"I'm not gonna eat them _all._ Just a couple." Still, he puts the lid on the small container of olives, fresh from their visit to Greece, resisting temptation, and makes a mental note to himself to go back and get more.

Smirking, the historian unlocks the front door and steps inside, then goes still; Ezekiel runs into his back. He peers around Jacob's back to see what's made him halt so suddenly.

There's a smear of blood on the wall going up the stairs, with dark droplets making a trail up the steps.

Exchanging a glance, they climb the stairs slowly and carefully, avoiding the ones that creak in the middle. As they reach the first floor, all at once, the tension goes out of Jacob's body, and Ezekiel hears him let out a breath. _"Eliot,"_ he exclaims, striding forward.

The hitter is lying on their sofa, asleep, and covered haphazardly with the afghan from the recliner and the comforter from their bed. The blankets shift at the sound of Jacob's voice, and Thistle's head pops up from underneath like a strange, frilly-eared daisy. "Mum!" she exclaims in a hushed voice; she crawls out from beneath the blankets and perches on the back of the sofa, bobbing up and down in alarm. "Mum! Mum, _red!_ Red!" she says insistently, sounding quite distressed.

"Red?" Jacob approaches the sofa in confusion. Eliot doesn't stir when he comes close, a bad sign, and when he pulls the blankets back, he sees what she means. Eliot's shirt and jacket are both covered in blood. "Oh, _fuck,_ Jonesy, get the first aid kit," he says, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Carefully, he pulls open his brother's jacket.

"Mum?" Thistle warbles at him, and he glances up at her. She looks back and forth between Eliot's face and his, seeming quite baffled.

"Eliot," Jacob replies, reaching up to gently scratch under her chin. "Eli. My brother."

She nods thoughtfully, studying Eliot. "Eli. No Mum. Eli."

Ezekiel comes back with the first aid kit, kneeling beside the sofa. Jacob cuts open the shoulder of Eliot's shirt, soaks a corner of a washcloth in peroxide, and reaches for the wound.

A hand comes up around Jacob's wrist so sharply that the small bones move painfully for a moment before the grip loosens. "Ow," Eliot rasps out, one eye glaring at him balefully.

"Don't be a puss," Jacob replies, resuming his task. "What the hell did you do now, Eli? Huh?"

"It ain't that bad, alright? I was just…lightly stabbed is all."

The historian raises his eyebrows almost to his hairline. _Lightly stabbed? What the fuck is lightly stabbed? Never mind, not even gonna ask._ "And you chose to come bleed on my couch instead of yours because...?" he asks.

Eliot hisses softly as the peroxide runs into his wound. "To be honest, I have no idea. I'm fairly certain I got a concussion." He groans and puts his head back against the arm of the sofa; all at once he tenses up, staring upwards, and Jacob realises belatedly that Thistle is indeed still there, watching her newly discovered kinsman with avid dedication.

"Eli!" she chirps, fanning her wings.

"The fuck?" Eliot murmurs, softly but with great feeling.

Jacob snorts through his nose as he tapes a folded patch of gauze over the wound, winding bandage around the shoulder; thankfully there's no need for stitches this time. Maybe that's what Eliot means by 'lightly' stabbed. As long as it doesn't need stitches, then it's only a 'light' stab wound. "This is why I always tell you to call ahead," he chides teasingly as he tapes the end of the bandage in place and closes the first aid kit. "Eli, say hello to Thistle. She's a bujanga. You're very lucky she decided you were family because her kind is very protective of their homes. Thistle, Eliot. Eliot, Thistle."

Eliot's mouth opens and closes without sound, and finally, he shakes his head. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask," he mumbles. Looking up at Thistle, he lifts one hand as best he can without moving his shoulder, offering her his fingers. "Hey."

She sniffs his proffered fingers, then nuzzles her cheek against them, a buzzing purr coming from her throat. "Eli," she coos softly, then looks to Jacob. "Mum 'n Eli."

The hitter's eyebrows go up, a wide grin splitting his face. "Why, Jacob, you didn't invite me to the baby shower," he says, and Jacob rolls his eyes heavenwards. "Out of wedlock, too, Gran would be ashamed. Do you know who the father is?"

"Shut the hell up," Jacob chortles, smacking Eliot's unhurt shoulder.

"Bite me, nerd." Ignoring the brothers' familiar sniping, Thistle crawls down from the back of the sofa onto his stomach, stretching the length of her body against his torso, careful to avoid his shoulder. She tucks her head against the crook of his neck and purrs. Eliot stares down at the top of her head for a moment, then smiles and rubs behind one frilly ear with his callused fingertips. "You're kinda cute," he murmurs. "I mean, for a funky little critter." She blows air against his neck, and he chortles.

Sprawled in the armchair with the container of olives, Ezekiel shakes his head. "Should've known you couldn't resist her charms. If she could thaw out the old man, you had no chance."

"Shut up, Jones."

Thistle purrs in content as she snuggles close to Eli, her new kinsman, pleased she had guessed correctly. He is Mum's egg-mate, and he had come to them because he was wounded. He'd seemed surprised to see her at first, but now he appears quite pleased to have her near, rubbing behind her ears with his rough fingertips. He doesn't quite scratch all the good spots like Mista J or Punk does, but it feels lovely nonetheless.

Mum sits on the end of the sofa near Eli's feet, and his chest rumbles beneath her as he speaks. Whilst she does understand some of the noises humans communicate in, she cannot make sense of all of them; it all starts to run together like the burbling of a creek. Knowing that her attention is no longer needed, she settles instead for staying close to Eli. He'll need to be looked after until he's healed. He offers her a smooth, dark fruit from the container that Punk has, and Thistle munches on it happily, liking the meaty texture of it.

As she licks the juices off her toepads, her ears lift. There's something outside. She's learnt to ignore most of the human noises outside the den, but these ones are coming from _behind_ their den, in her territory. Thistle sits up and listens intently. There's an awful little rodent in the yard that likes to steal fruits from _her_ crabapple tree, but this is bigger than that, climbing up the wooden ivy-frame to the window. Perhaps it is the predator that wounded Eli, tracking him down?

Her parents and uncle continue to chatter, unalarmed, and she knows that human ears aren't as sharp as hers, so they must not hear it. She wriggles out from underneath Eli's arm and leaps to the floor, sprinting towards the window.

"Whoa, what'd I do?" Eliot remarks as Thistle suddenly squirms off his lap and darts away.

Jacob shrugs. "She's got a standing feud with a squirrel over the crabapple tree."

Suddenly, there's a loud crash and a very human shout from the backyard.

 

Thistle pokes her head out the window and peers downwards, balancing on the sill. There's a human climbing up the ivy-frame, a small, slim female with pale fur, wearing all black skins. She's an agile climber for a human, no doubt an excellent predator.

Her lips wrinkle back from her teeth, and she hisses. The female looks up at her just as Thistle springs.

The human ducks, so Thistle doesn't land on her head, but she twists in midair and latches on, hooking her claws into the black skins. The sudden yank of her additional weight dislodges the human, and they both go tumbling down the ivy-frame to the grass in a flurry of shrieking and thrashing. Her wings pummel at the air, hopefully disorienting the human as she wrestles her way on top of the human. She gets a mouthful of pale fur and yanks hard, hearing a loud yelp of pain in response. Hands try to push her off, but she clings with all her feet, coils her tail around a flailing limb, and refuses to let go.

Suddenly, Mum's voice shouts from the door. "Thistle! Stop!"

She swivels her head around to see Mum, Eli, and Punk hurrying towards her. Mum wraps both hands around her middle and lifts her off the intruder, taking a step back. To her bafflement, Eli leans down to help the stranger up. What?

"Parker, what the hell are you doing?" Eliot grunts, pulling her up by the arm. The blonde is now covered in bits of grass and dirt, and there's a big chunk of her hair that's standing up in a wet clump. She looks like she's been attacked by a very tiny weedwhacker, with dozens of small tears and scratches all over. He definitely believes what Jacob says about them being protective now.

"What is _that?"_ she asks, staring at Thistle; the little dragon critter is clasped tightly in Jacob's arms, watching the proceedings intensely. There's a few strands of blonde hair hanging from her mouth, and she looks ready to rumble.

"Hey, man! Somebody wanna come let me in?" a familiar voice shouts from the other side of the fence, and a long arm appears over the top, waving at them. Hardison doesn't do the whole fence-jumping bid, despite those long giraffe legs of his. Eliot sighs.

Jacob shakes his head, keeping a firm grip on his adopted 'child.' "You people are a menace."

 

It is now official. Humans are the strangest creatures.

Thistle stretches out on her back across the blonde female's lap, watching her clan from an upside-down perspective as her belly is rubbed. Apparently, the female isn't an intruder or a predator at all. She is Eli's mate. One of them, anyways, since he seems to have two. She's never seen a human with two mates before, though it's not unusual to her; bujangas sometimes form mated trios and quartets. One is the blonde female—Park. The other is a very tall male—Hardi. She likes them both, now that she's been properly introduced to them.

Park has a clean, fresh scent about her like the spring rain that falls even when the sun is still shining, and there's a quick, mish-co-vous way about her similar to Punk. Hardi is the tallest human she's ever seen, as tall as Mista J, and his skin is smooth and dark like her favourite candynuts. He smells good, too, warm, iron and fire.

He'd given her a piece of fruit—she thinks its a fruit, anyways—that was very soft and squishy and incredibly sweet, but it stuck to her teeth and her claws. She didn't like it very much, but she ate it all anyways, not wanting to insult her new family member.

Thankfully, Park has forgiven Thistle's attack and is cuddling her happily, scratching her belly and playing with her footpads, which are wonderfully ticklish. They're all talking amongst each other, their words turning into creek-murmuring again, so she relaxes, hoping that there are no more surprises today. She would not like to accidentally attack any more members of her clan.

Drowsily, she rolls off of Park and pads over to Hardi instead, curling up in his lap. She likes Park, but the human female is full of boundless energy, moving around all the time, like the fat yellow buzzy insects that flock around flowers. Hardi remains still, though, like a tree, much more conducive to napping.

"Can she pick locks?" Parker asks, tilting her head curiously as Thistle curls up on Hardison's lap, eyes closed.

"No."

"Have you ever tried?"

"No! Parker, do not corrupt my bujanga," Jacob scolds. He makes a mental note to never ever let her babysit; Thistle would probably come back able to pick locks with her claws and hiding stolen diamonds in her fern.

She shrugs and goes back to poking at Eliot's bandages, making a game out of avoiding the hitter's admonishing swats.

Smiling at their antics, he then asks, "Well, since you guys are already here, you wanna stay for dinner?"

Eliot arches an eyebrow, smacking aside Parker's hand. "As in we order something for dinner, or I _make_ dinner?" he asks.

"Oi, you bled on our upholstery, I'd say dinner makes us even." Ezekiel perches on Jacob's knee with a smirk, leaning back into the historian and curling an arm around his shoulders. He's happy to see Thistle getting along with the rest of their family, but he definitely agrees with Jacob that Parker should never be allowed to babysit. He's a little concerned that the blonde hellion might just try to abduct their baby and teach her to grift, turn her into a mascot for Leverage International.

"Yeah, alright." The hitter pushes off from the sofa and gingerly rolls his injured shoulder. He walks towards the kitchen, reaching down to smack his twin on the shoulder as he passes. "C'mon, Frankengeek, you're my sous now. I don't know where you keep your shit."

Parker leaps up to follow them; she's been learning how to cook from Eliot, though she's not allowed to do any hands-on yet. Ezekiel occupies the armchair that Jacob's vacated, looking over at Hardison. "You're not going to help?" he asks.

The hacker shakes his head. "Nah, man, I'm cool. You see this?" He gestures to Thistle, now dead asleep on his lap, splayed on her back with one leg cocked in the air and a wing hanging over his knee. "This is my life now, man. I ain't going nowhere. They got it in there. I'm all good with my little buddy. Nice and comfy."

Ezekiel smiles at that, watching the brothers cook with their observing thief perched on the breakfast bar. "Not too comfy, now. Parker can get her own dragon."

Hardison winces. "Oh, Lord, don't say that, she might hear you."

 

Bujangas have no concept of measuring time in hours or minutes, counting things in days, cycles of the moon, and seasons, but Thistle knows that it is very, very late when they all finally go to their nests.

Eli had made food for them, no doubt to make up for his and his mates' absence from the clan. The dark meat that he made, whilst it smelled appetizing, hadn't tasted good to her, but he had been kind enough to present her with her very own dish full of roasted vegetables. She'd licked the whole thing clean. They had stayed until well after sundown, chattering amongst each other, their scents rubbing off on each other and forming a cohesive clan scent, just like in the Liberry, where it smells like all of them. Proper family.

She yawns widely, her belly wonderfully full, stretched out on her side. Park, Hardi, and Eli all scratch her ears as they leave, and she warbles a farewell to them. Hopefully they won't stay away so long next time. She loves Eli's vegetables.

Mum scoops her up, and Thistle nestles into his arms happily, glad she doesn't have to climb all the way up the stairs to her fern. He sets her gently in the rich soil under the fronds, hands her Tigger, and kisses her head. "Night," she coos up at him. "Night. Love Mum. Love Punk."

"Night. We love Thistle, too," he replies, letting the fronds come down and blanket her in their feathery green warmth.

She hears them head to their own nest and closes her eyes, cuddling Tigger to her, murmuring softly as sleep crawls up on her. "Mum. Punk. Eve. Fin. Cass. Mista J. Fran. Eli. Park. Hardi. M' clan. M' family."


End file.
